


Harry Potter and the Secret in the Library

by EvAEleanor, tasteofshapes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Auror Harry Potter, Bottom Harry Potter, Denial of Feelings, Family Secrets, Friends With Benefits, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Locked In, M/M, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Oral Sex, Top Draco Malfoy, Unspeakable Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23411161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvAEleanor/pseuds/EvAEleanor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tasteofshapes/pseuds/tasteofshapes
Summary: Draco stands outside the library for a moment, before he turns the handle and pushes the heavy double doors open. What heexpectsto find is a silent library cloaked in darkness. What he gets instead is a fire crackling merrily away in the grate, the library lit only by firelight, and Potter lounging on the fur rug in front of the fireplace, clad only in a terry-cloth bathrobe, a glass of wine in one hand.“What the… Potter—!” Draco yelps, and Potter looks up from the book open in front of him and raises an eyebrow at Draco.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 30
Kudos: 503
Collections: Lock Down Fest





	Harry Potter and the Secret in the Library

**Author's Note:**

> A very special thanks to [nettle forest](https://nettleforest.tumblr.com/) for the quick and wonderful beta, and to our lovely Virtual Cabin folk for always cheering us on! We'd like to thank the mods for organising (and extending the deadline) for this fest!

The first thing that Draco does when he Apparates into the small back gardens of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, is swear. He looks up at the tightly shuttered windows of the house as he stands there in his tailored grey suit, clutching the edges of his cloak firmly around him against the chill of an early Spring evening, and lets loose a stream of creative curses.

“By Merlin’s crusty old beard, that absolute tit of an idiot didn’t update the wards! I could be a psychotic raging axe-murderer out for revenge for all he knows. And he dares call himself an Auror? How utterly careless! Whatever happened to _constant vigilance_ , Potter?”

There is, of course, no one around to hear him, much less reply to his grumbling, which is lost to the quiet shadows that loom down the garden path leading to the back door of Grimmauld Place. As he makes his way over, he notes absently that the forsythia bushes that they planted by the back door are just coming into bloom. The flowers are almost unearthly white, shining bright in the last bit of daylight. Draco lingers for a quick second to breathe in the mild, honey scent that fills the evening air. It’s a sad reminder of happier times, before Draco wanted more than Harry could give.

The back door, when he tries it, is unlocked. It swings open to reveal a long corridor shrouded in shadow, and Draco blows out his breath in an exasperated sigh when he throws a small twig he’s just picked up over the threshold—and it isn’t instantly blasted to bits.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he says as he enters the house, his voice echoing into the depths of the house, “now this is just ridiculous. No house wards, no locks, and he didn’t set up the traps like I told him to? At the rate he’s going, he almost deserves to get clobbered to death by some crazy fan, that stupid arse.”

The house remains silent, and the back door obligingly swings itself shut as Draco goes deeper inside. He climbs up the small staircase and stops in front of the door that leads into the main part of the house, where he pauses on the landing, trying to make out any sounds beyond the door. Complete silence. 

Placing one hand on the golden door handle, he carefully turns it. The door creaks loudly as he pushes it open, the sound resonating throughout the entire house. When Potter doesn’t immediately appear, Draco takes a cautious step forward, then another, until he’s in the front foyer. It’s completely dark by now, but he knows the outline of the house by heart. He’s spent plenty of evenings here; months Flooing in to see Potter in secret.

He feels like an intruder, and technically he is one. Potter hasn’t invited him over, and from the looks of things, Potter isn’t home. He usually spends Friday evenings at Granger and Weasley’s place. This makes it easy for him to grab what he’d accidentally left behind in the library the last time he was here and leave quietly. It’s a simple, clear plan, and the hardest obstacle—getting into the house—is already behind him. 

_Down the hallway, up the stairs to the first floor. First door on the right._ He goes through the layout mentally, to make sure that he doesn’t have to spend more time here than necessary. He doesn’t really need to do that, but he’s nervous, and doing this calms his nerves. 

He makes his way up the stairs to the library at a quick pace. Every time a wooden step squeaks under his shoe, he startles, and looks behind himself to check that the coast is clear. The paintings on the wall are all his distant relatives once or twice removed, and they eye him sharply as he goes past, but remain quiet. Draco exhales in relief once he’s past them. He stops on the landing and waits to see if anyone’s given him away; or if Kreacher would appear. Technically, Kreacher should be at Hogwarts, but he could pop back anytime Harry or the house summons him. When nothing happens after a minute and the house remains silent, he makes his way cautiously over to the heavy double doors of the library.

 _The book. Just take the book and get out of here._

Draco stands outside the library for a moment, before he turns the handle and pushes the heavy double doors open. What he _expects_ to find is a silent library cloaked in darkness. What he gets instead is a fire crackling merrily away in the grate, the library lit only by firelight, and Potter lounging on the fur rug in front of the fireplace, clad only in a terry-cloth bathrobe, a glass of wine in one hand.

“What the… Potter—!” Draco yelps, and Potter looks up from the book open in front of him and raises an eyebrow at Draco.

“Malfoy.” His voice is husky, and the sound of it sends an unexpected shiver down Draco’s spine. “I can’t say I’m surprised to see you here… visiting.” He closes the book he’s been reading, and holds it up. “Looking for this, I presume.” 

Draco can feel himself blushing, two guilty spots of colour rising on his cheeks. It’s almost unbearably hot with the fire heating up the room and him still wearing his heavy cloak. Taking it off, however, would send the wrong signal; would give Potter entirely the wrong idea about why he’s here.

His eyes roam over the man in front of him. Half of Potter's face is lit with a warm glow from the fire, the other half cast in shadow. His breath hitches when he sees the edges of the fading love bite sticking out from under the collar of Potter’s robe; the very same one he had left underneath Potter’s collarbone not just four days ago. Draco licks his lips involuntarily as he thinks back to the last time, to the noises Potter made as he marked him with his hands and his mouth, to the moans he dragged out of Potter...

“Malfoy?” Potter’s voice pulls him back, and Draco’s eyes meet green ones. 

_Shit._

He tries to recall what Potter just said. “You’re dressed like that… while expecting company?” He swallows once, trying to compose himself and clear his face of any emotions. “Your outfit is _very_ inappropriate. Has no one ever taught you manners, Potter?” 

“Oh? I, personally, think this is the perfect outfit for the occasion.” Potter sprawls back even further and tugs on his robe, slowly pulling it aside to expose more skin, until the robe hangs midway off one shoulder.

Draco’s eyes widen as more of Potter’s gorgeous tanned chest and shoulder comes into view, lovingly backlit by the fire roaring in the grate behind him. Potter catches his eye, and very deliberately runs a hand up from his bare chest to his shoulder and then to his neck, his fingers stopping on the pulse point right below his jaw. He tilts his head as he looks at Draco, very obviously drawing Draco’s attention to his neck, to his fingers tracing little circles on his skin. He looks like a Greek god come to life, a sly curl to his mouth under that tousled hair, one leg crossed seductively in front of the other, half-dressed and inviting.

It takes all of Draco’s willpower to force himself to look away. He bites down on the insides of his cheek, and the sharp pain reminds him why he’s here.

 _No_. 

“The book please, Potter. Give me my book and then I’ll get out of your hair.” Draco stretches out his right hand in Potter’s direction. His forehead is damp with sweat, and he’s not sure if it’s because of the fire, or because of Potter. It feels like the room is getting hotter by the minute, and Draco reaches up with his other hand to adjust his robes. Then he catches sight of the look on Potter’s face, thinks better of it, and lets his hand drop down. 

_I’ll get the book and then I’ll leave._

Potter begins to move, shifting his weight as he pushes himself to sit upright, his legs folded gracefully underneath him. His bathrobe conveniently falls open as he does, displaying his body up to the navel, though most of it is, thankfully, still hidden in the shadows from the folds of the robe. 

Then Potter adjusts his clothing, looking coyly up at Draco through his eyelashes, and Draco blinks twice when he catches sight of—“Merlin’s saggy tits, Potter! This is obscene.” 

He takes one more quick glance before he hurriedly brings a hand up to block his view of Potter’s lap, and the goods that are very obviously put on display. “You’re naked!” Draco exclaims, his voice gone high and scandalised. “You’re lying here, in a _library_ , wearing nothing. Nothing, Potter!But a bathrobe!”

“Well, _yeah_. That’s what people normally wear after they take a shower. I don’t know how you usually shower, but I don’t wear clothes when I’m standing under the water.” He gets up and takes a step in Draco’s direction. 

Draco can’t resist. He spreads his fingers slightly, looking between them to make sure that—yup, it’s still on display. “For fucks sake, Potter. Adjust your robe.” He looks down at the floor, feeling his cheeks light up, _again_. 

“Like this?” 

For a moment, Draco sincerely believes that Harry has covered himself up. He lowers his hand, only to be confronted with Potter’s terry-cloth bathrobe hanging completely open, exposing Potter's front; his cock is already half-hard. The red-orange flames of the fire illuminate Potter's tanned skin; highlight the sharp angles of Potter's body—the lines of his chiseled jaw that softens into a teasing smile; the jaunty thrust of his hip. Potter looks exactly like sex on legs. He looks like everything that Draco had dreamed about, like everything that Draco had once wanted.

 _Fuck no. Not now._

“You mental?” He shakes his head and closes his eyes, trying to get the image of Potter out of his brain. He seriously wishes he could Obliviate himself. Seeing Potter like this, naked and inviting, makes it almost impossible to leave. It takes all of Draco’s willpower not to simply push Potter up against a wall and fuck him senseless. “Give me that bloody book and then I'm out of here. Now!” 

There’s the sound of Potter’s bare feet against the wooden floor, then a hand gently touches his. Potter turns Draco’s wrist upwards, and then places the book in it. Draco relaxes once he feels the familiar leather in his hand.

_So far so good… Just get the hell out of here. Before…_

He attempts to turn away, only to realise that Potter’s still holding onto his wrist. Draco gasps as Potter begins to kiss said wrist, his lips soft against Draco’s skin. Potter looks up through his eyelashes, his tongue tracing the stark black lines of the Mark on Draco’s arm, his gaze intent. Shocked, Draco pulls his hand away from Potter in a one swift, sharp movement, and promptly drops the book. 

He bends down to pick it up, and once he’s standing up again, book safely in his right hand, Draco immediately looks at the door, gauging its distance. He’s about three large steps away. He’s so close; he can almost feel the cool air of the dark passage on his overheated face.

He sucks in an involuntary breath as he feels Potter’s lips descend upon his neck. A second later, Potter ups the ante with his hands—his big, strong hands, which have started massaging Draco’s shoulders. A slow shiver begins to make its way down Draco’s neck and over his entire body. As always, Potter knows just exactly what to do to get him all worked up; knows exactly which of Draco’s buttons to push to have him helpless and at the mercy of his marvellous, magical hands. 

“Tell me Draco, do you want me to stop?” Potter whispers, before biting down on the left side of Draco’s neck. 

“Mmmhh...” For a fraction of a second, Draco can’t help himself, and he leans into the touch, tilting his head to side to give Potter better access to his neck. A drop of sweat runs from his hairline down to his neck, only to be licked away by Potter’s hot tongue. Unwilling, Draco’s eyes drift close.

"Let's get you more comfortable, darling. It's far too hot in here to be dressed from head to toe in multiple layers." 

Potter's hands slide from Draco's shoulders forward to his collarbone. In one swift motion, Potter undoes the golden cloak clasps that pin Draco's cloak on either side of his shoulders. The clasps are engraved with the Malfoy coat of arms, and once undone, Draco’s cloak falls to the floor in a whisper of fabric that pools at their feet. It's considerably cooler once he's freed of the heavy cloak, and Draco's eyes fly open at the sudden change in temperature. 

Before he can do anything else, Potter plucks the book from Draco’s hand, and sets both book and clasps down on a side table, and immediately returns to his ministrations of Draco’s neck—kissing, nibbling, licking. He feels Potter’s hands grabbing hold of the collar of his jacket, his nails scraping lightly over the skin, and loses himself in the combination of Potter’s hands and mouth on his neck. 

It’s when Potter says, “come to the rug, my darling,” a clear invitation in his voice, that Draco finally comes back to his senses. He inhales deeply, pushes himself away from Potter, and takes the final three steps towards the double doors. 

Potter follows him as he goes and takes the opportunity to sling an arm around Draco’s waist when he stops in front of the closed library doors—which Draco could have sworn he left open. They’re heavy enough that he would have heard the doors closing, which he didn’t. But before he can point this out, Potter says huskily, “Where are you running off to?”

Draco doesn’t get the chance to reply before Potter leans in again to kiss his neck, nipping gently at his skin. Potter’s warm breath on his neck sends tendrils of excitement running through Draco, his skin goosepimpling with anticipation. He can’t resist, and he leans back to rest his head on Potter's shoulder, giving him full access. Potter takes full advantage of it, dragging his tongue in hot little swipes against Draco’s neck. Draco’s white-blond hair sticks in sweaty strands to his forehead, his cheeks are red, and his cock is straining against the zipper of his trousers.

Draco places one hand on the door handle, trying to summon his resolve, but it’s difficult when Potter’s murmuring filthy promises into his ear, trying to entice him back to the rug. Draco closes his eyes, basking in the feeling of his strong hands running all over his body, Potter’s mouth pressed up against the shell of his ear, telling him all the ways he’d like to make Draco scream. All the ways he’d like to suck Draco’s cock; all the things he wants to do to him, and Draco’s so close to giving in.

It’s only when Potter says, “I’ll make you feel so good that you’ll never want to leave,” that Draco snaps entirely out of his lust-induced haze. He turns around and shoves Potter back in one swift motion, his hand pressed forcefully against Potter’s chest, glaring hatefully. 

“Am I a joke to you?” Draco says icily, snapping out each word. His heart is hammering in his chest, beating painfully hard against his ribs, but his voice comes out steady and cold. “You’ll make sure I’ll never want to leave? Potter, _you_ were the one that kicked me out last time. _You_ were the one who said that this was just a fling.”

Potter blinks at the sudden change in the mood, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly like a guppy. Behind his glasses, his eyes are wide with surprise. Something like realisation passes swiftly across Potter’s face, there and then gone again. Draco doesn’t want to see it. If there’s one thing he needs right now, it’s to get the hell away from Potter, and away from those empty words that he throws around thoughtlessly. He turns away and tries the handle, except that the door won’t open. Draco breathes out calmly and tries it again. The door remains firmly closed. 

“Potter, open the door.” Draco’s not about to lose his cool, but he doesn’t think much of Potter using his magic to seal the door shut. It’s quite out of character for him, but then again, he supposes he never really knew Potter at all. 

“Draco, can we talk? Please?” Potter places one hand tentatively on Draco’s back, which he shrugs off in an impatient gesture. 

“I don’t want to talk, I want to get out of here. Open the door. _Now_.”

“I’m not doing anything to the door, Draco.” Potter reaches past him to jiggle the handle. The door doesn’t budge, and Potter’s eyebrows lift in surprise. “What the—” 

Potter wraps both hands around the handle and pulls back with all his might, straining. He might as well have been tugging on Excalibur embedded in solid stone for all that does. He jiggles the handle again, his face creased in a frown, and kicks the door hard in frustration. The door shudders against the force of the blow, but remains stubbornly closed. Potter curses, rubbing his foot, and turns. “Potter.” Draco raises his eyebrows, gesturing at Potter’s bathrobe. 

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” There’s a faint blush on Potter’s cheeks as he re-ties his bathrobe firmly around himself. Then he marches over to snatch his wand off a side table and points it at the door.

An _Alohomora_ produces no results. Nor does a _Portaberto_ ,or an _Open Sesame_ , which should have ripped the door from its hinges and reduced it to firewood. The door simply emits a faint blue glow when the spell hits, which grows brighter as the spell slowly sinks into the wood before fading away completely. There’s no way this should be happening. There’s no way this _can_ be happening, and Draco absolutely believes Potter when he tells him that he’s not sure why it’s not working, puzzlement etched all over his face. They try to Apparate out next, but get slammed back into the room the minute they do, stunned and dizzy.

“Summon Kreacher,” Draco suggests, and Potter does. Kreacher doesn’t appear. Potter tries again, yelling out Kreacher’s name, but there’s no familiar pop of the house elf Apparating in. Something’s clearing blocking them from Apparating in or out and preventing Kreacher from responding. 

Potter tries the fireplace, but although he tosses in a generous handful of Floo powder, the fire doesn’t switch to the Floo network. It remains a normal orange. One of the logs shifts slightly in the grate, and sends sparks and ash flying up the chimney.

They try the windows next—the gorgeous floor to ceiling windows that take up one entire wall of the library, with a cosy window bay piled high with a mishmash of colourful cushions. It is—it _was_ one of Draco’s favourite places in the house, and he’s a little sorry to see it smashed to smithereens when Potter sends a spell flying at the glass. Except that nothing happens. Like the door, the windows just absorb the spell, lit with an unearthly blue glow as the spell sinks in before it fades away.

Potter’s pacing now, antsy like a caged tiger, all thoughts of seduction gone. Draco watches him, waiting. When the silence stretches on and on and Potter doesn’t offer any new suggestions, Draco finally gives in and says, “What about the secret passage?”

Potter swings around in the middle of wearing a hole in the carpet to stare at Draco. “The what now?”

“The secret passageway. You know, the one that connects the library to the mud room in the back of the house.”

Potter’s staring at him blankly. “Draco,” he says slowly, “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh for Salazar’s sake, how is it that you know almost nothing about your own house?” Draco demands. He casts a disdainful look at Potter. “You’ve been living here for _years_. Hasn’t the house shown you all of its secrets by now?”

Potter’s advancing on him, a strange light in his eyes. “Show me,” he says. “ _Please_ ,” he adds, when Draco doesn’t move.

Draco rolls his eyes, but he wants to get out of the room as much as Potter does. He walks over to the bookcase. The rim of each shelf is lined in rich gold, and in the flickering firelight it looks like the shelves are luminous. Which, Draco supposes, is the entire point of it. 

He tries to recall what his mother told him, humming the song under his breath. The Blacks had made it into a rhyme: _third from the left, seventh from the bottom, nine is the number that should not be forgotten_. He counts it out in his head as his eyes travel across the books, before landing on a thick volume of astronomy. Draco rolls his eyes again. The Blacks couldn’t have been more obvious if they tried. 

He tugs the book out of its resting place. There’s a slight resistance before it slides free halfway. When he’s sure that it’s come as far as it can go, he releases it, and the book slides silently back into the bookcase. There’s a soft click as the old gears start up, the machinery slowly kicking into action after years of disuse. Draco steps back expectantly as the bookcase before him sinks back into the wall, and slides behind the others to reveal a gaping hole blanketed in darkness.

Beside him, Potter’s staring in slack-jawed surprise. “How did you know this was here?”

“How didn’t _you_?” Draco counters, folding his arms across his chest. “My mother’s a Black. Of course I knew. Now go on, put on some shoes and let’s get out of here.”

Potter hastily heads back over to the rug to put on his new bedroom slippers—golden, with a fluffy red lion’s head attached to the front of each. They’re ghastly, but for some reason they remind him of Luna and the Lion-topped hat she used to wear whenever Gryffindor played a Quidditch match.

 _How very Gryffindor._ He has a hard time trying not to roll his eyes.

The lions eye Draco suspiciously as if they can read his thoughts, and they give him an open-mouthed, silent snarl, which he answers with a disdainful sniff, before turning back to the bookcase. 

“I can’t believe that the machinery is still good, even after all these years,” Draco says, giving the bookcase a fond stroke. The house seems to appreciate the compliment—the unlit torches set in the scones burst into flame the moment they take a step forward into the passageway, one after the other in rapid succession. The air doesn’t smell as musty as it should be, despite the passageway being shut up for years, although a chill settles over them as they walk down a slope that heads towards the back of the house.

The sound of their footsteps echo off the stone walls as they walk further down the passageway. Draco proceeds down the narrow path first, turning back occasionally to check on Potter’s progress. He doesn’t want to leave Potter behind, but he doesn’t want to allow Potter to get too close either. This past year has taught him as much: even in the most infuriating of circumstances, Potter has always managed to sweet-talk his way into Draco’s pants. Potter’s face may look innocent—all soft edges compared to his own—but Potter’s mouth is another story... 

A sudden sharp turn thankfully breaks Draco’s train of thought. More torches burst into light in front of them, revealing a short flight of narrow stairs. They walk carefully down the staircase and, after taking another turn, find themselves standing in front of a stone wall. Potter frowns and steps past Draco to stand in front of the wall, his hands moving across the cold stones in search of something. 

When that search doesn’t yield anything, Potter folds the left sleeve of his bathrobe up to his elbow, before flicking his wand over his forearm in a sharp gesture. To Draco’s shock, a small cut appears on Potter’s arm, which he then presses against a dirty, cobwebbed stone. 

“What the actual fuck, Potter.” Draco grabs hold of Potter’s arm and heals the cut, murmuring a spell under his breath. It’s a superficial cut that heals almost instantly, the skin knitting together under the warm glow of the spell. 

Potter’s eyes are suddenly wide, his gaze fixed on Draco’s face. Draco simply shoves Potter behind him once he’s done. He glances back over his shoulder, his eyes dark as he stands in the same position that Potter had stood just mere seconds ago. “Just exactly how barbaric do you think my ancestors were, Potter? A _blood sacrifice_. Just because most of them were in Slytherin doesn’t mean that they used Dark Magic to lock away secret passageways. A blood sacrifice is used to weaken somebody. Why would we do that to our own kin?” 

When Potter opens his mouth to try and protest, Draco just snaps out: “DON’T."

There's a brief pause. Mercifully, Potter keeps his mouth shut, and even has the decency to look slightly ashamed. 

"Don’t answer that.” Draco’s voice is icy. _It really shows me what you think of them, what you think of me,_ he adds mentally, and then that old bitter feeling is there again, simmering just underneath the surface. He has never been good enough for Potter, and moments like this only serve to highlight this inconvenient truth, over and over again.

He allows himself a deep breath, then shoves his feelings aside to concentrate on the problem at hand. Draco lights up his wand and spots what Potter had missed the first time around: there’s a small gap in the stone, and at the end, a rock shaped like a lock. 

“Aha, got you,” he says triumphantly, and carefully slides his wand through the gap until it touches the lock. When the keyhole glows golden, Draco turns his wand as if unlocking a door, and the rock wall slowly melts away to reveal a black wooden door. He takes his wand out of the lock and jiggles the golden handle, trying to open the door. Nothing happens. 

Potter doesn’t do anything to help; just crosses his arms and stands there silently watching. Draco gives the door an irritated look, before running through the same list of spells that Potter used upstairs, in the exact same order, like a record on repeat. When _that_ doesn’t work, Draco casts a couple of additional spells that Potter certainly doesn’t know about, muttering under his breath as he does so—they’re new Unspeakable spells which Draco is currently in the process of fine-tuning. He’s fully aware that he shouldn’t be casting them in front of an Auror, much less an Auror who is _Potter_ —with a direct link to the Minister for Magic, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Draco’s job as an Unspeakable usually complicates his life instead of making it easy. Nobody, not even his mother, knows what he does. It’s both a blessing and a curse—Draco relishes the chance to make a difference, to do work that he finds meaningful and honourable; that differs very obviously from Lucius’ footsteps. However, all his work is shrouded in secrecy, done under the cover of plausible deniability—if it became public knowledge that an ex-Death Eater was working as an Unspeakable, the resulting scandal would spell the end of the Minister for Magic’s political career. This doesn’t bother him most of the time, but sometimes, in the deepest, darkest recesses of his heart, he wishes that someone, besides his colleagues, would know. Would know what he’s accomplished after the war, would know how far he’s come, would see beyond the Dark Mark on his arm.

Fortunately, the book that Draco had accidentally left here doesn’t contain any clues that might expose what he does. It does have some coded notes that are crucial to his work, but the notes don’t make sense to anyone unfamiliar with the project that he’s currently working on. Most of the notes relate to Potion-making, which allows Draco to pretend that he’s training to be a Potions Master in the event that anyone asks. 

He finishes running through the list of new Unspeakable spells, all of which light up the door in a variety of different colours as they sink into the wood. He tries the handle again, jiggling it impatiently, but the door stays firmly shut and, very annoyingly, remains impervious to both the spells and Draco’s glare. He taps a finger against his chin as he thinks. 

He can’t get out of a sodding room, much less the house. They’ve tried almost everything, and their every attempt has been pointless. He eyes the door balefully, then tells Potter, “step back and take cover.”

Potter shoots him an inquisitive look, but does as he told. Draco waves his wand in a complicated flourish, then casts a _Bombarda_ to try storm his way out. The door shakes heavily, rattling in its hinges and glowing red as the spell sinks in, before it stills again. Draco sighs audibly. 

“Just as I’ve thought. It’s the bloody house,” Draco mumbles to himself. He runs a finger over the dark heavy wood, feeling his own magic humming underneath his fingertips.

“The house?” Surprise is written all over Potter’s face as he stares wonderingly between Draco and the enchanted door. 

“Yes, Potter, the house,” Draco says patiently. 

He walks over to Potter and places a hand on Potter’s arm to tug him along. Despite the chill, Potter’s skin is warm. Potter gives him a tentative smile, which Draco does not return. He turns away instead, and lets his hand fall away from Potter’s arm. They begin the trek back in silence, Draco leading the way again. 

Three steps later, he feels Potter’s fingers brushing against his own in a silent question. Draco pauses, and in that brief moment, Potter seizes the opportunity to interlace his fingers with Draco’s. Draco looks down at their joined hands, then up at Potter. There’s a small smile on Potter’s face, and he only tightens his grip when Draco tries to shake his hand out of Potter’s. They engage in this silent war for a few furious seconds, until Draco gives it up as a lost cause. 

Potter’s smile widens into a grin, and Draco scowls at him, although he can’t help but luxuriate in the feeling of Potter’s hand in his. For a moment, he allows himself to pretend that they’re more than—than whatever they are. Here, in the narrow corridor of the secret passageway, Draco allows himself this brief reprieve from reality. 

They resume their walk back to the library. Potter breaks the silence first. “So, you said this was because of the house? What’s up with it?” 

Draco’s reply is distracted as he focuses on keeping one foot moving in front of the other, and not on the warmth of their interlaced hands. “Yes—the, uh, the house. Well, as you know, this house has been occupied by Pureblood Wizards for generations. Countless centuries, maybe. Anyway, it’s been exposed to magic for so long that the house has absorbed a great deal of it, and developed its own sort of magic. I thought you’d have experienced some of it by now. Like the mattress being softer or harder, depending on what you need. Like the house trying to cheer you up after a bad day. It’s like Hogwarts, it knows what you need. But I guess that’s not the case here, is it? You seemed just as shocked as I was when we discovered that we couldn’t get out of here.”

It grows colder as he talks, the temperature in the stone passageway dropping several degrees as the torches extinguish themselves once they pass each scone. It feels like they’re chasing an ever shrinking pool of light, and they begin to pick up their pace, eager to get back to the warmth and light of the library’s fireplace. Potter presses closer, shivering slightly through that flimsy bathrobe of his, and Draco lets him.

Draco’s heart begins to beat faster as they get ever closer to the exit. What if the house decides to lock them in the passageway? He looks ahead, and smiles in relief when he sees the welcoming square of light from the library flooding the passageway, and the still open bookcase. 

_So the house wants us to get back in the library. The question is if there’s more behind it._

As one, their steps quicken in unison, and he hears Potter exhaling in a quiet sigh of relief when they cross the threshold from cold stone to warm wood, and arrive back to the warmth of the library fire still burning away in the grate. In one dramatic movement, Draco untangles their joined hands and walks over to the bay window. He sits down on a plush cushion, then looks around and realises that the room has changed in their absence. 

The fire is still warm, but it’s not as blazingly hot as before. The flames are smaller, painting the room in a darker shade of orange, shadows flickering on the wall. He scans the room carefully, and realises that more pillows and blankets have appeared—heaped on the sofa in a small mountain. 

Draco looks out of the window to the night sky beyond the cold panes of glass: an endless expanse of dark blue, dotted with faint glowing specks that represent the few stars that still remain visible despite the light pollution of the city. He shifts into a more comfortable posture and lets his head fall back gently against the wall, his eyes slowly drifting closed. Draco sighes, a long, weary sigh. He’s drained, and his body is stiff from all the spells that he had just cast.

“Here,” Harry says softly. Draco opens his eyes to find Harry standing right in front of him, a dark figure in outline as he blocks the light from the fire. Harry holds out a glass, half-filled with red wine. There’s another half-filled glass in his other hand. When Draco looks questioningly up at him, Harry adds, “Came back to find a second glass next to mine, together with a second bottle. So please, take it. Since the house is being so accommodating.” 

Their fingers brush when Draco leans forward and takes hold of the glass. Before he has time to object, Potter takes a seat at the other end of the bay window. Potter angles his body to face Draco, stretching out his legs as he does so. Draco follows suit. Silence spreads between them while they drink. Draco takes a cautious sip, and is happy to find that the wine is smokey and spicy, with a bright after-taste. It goes down smooth, and is exactly the kind he likes.

He lets the glass sway gently in his hand, watching the wine swish around in the inside of the glass like a mini vortex. From the corner of his eye, he spots Potter setting his glass down on the wooden floor with a soft _clink_ , before turning to him, a serious look on his face. Draco inhales deeply. It’s clear that Potter wants to talk. Given their recent track record, however, the chances of any kind of conversation ending with them parting on civil terms is poor. The hurtful words Potter had spoken the last time he was here still echo in his head. He can still recall the look on Potter’s face when he made it clear that he was in this arrangement just for the sex. 

_This is just a fling._

_Fling_. That was the worst word that Potter could’ve chosen. Something to use and then toss aside. Draco’s biggest regret was that he ever allowed himself to feel something for Potter, that he had ever allowed himself to believe that they could have been something more.

“What do we do now?” Harry asks quietly. 

_Well, Potter, we could always fuck to pass the time until your house decides to not keep us hostage anymore,_ is Draco’s first thought, which of course, he doesn’t say out loud. There’s no point. They’re done. The end for them had come four days ago.

“Now, we wait. I might try to read, though the light is terrible.” Draco takes another sip of wine. He has to remind himself to keep it casual, to keep Potter at arm’s length.

Silence descends again, bringing with it a tension so thick that you could cut through it with a wand. Opposite him, most of Potter’s face is cast in shadow.

“Tell me, Malfoy, where did you learn those spells?” Potter says slowly, looking straight at Draco. His green eyes glow like a cat’s in the dark, pinning him into place.

“What do you mean?” Draco says. He can’t look at Potter: his gaze shifts over to the fireplace, to the flames dancing in the grate. This secret is too big for him to tell anyone—even the person who defeated Voldemort. Precious Potter. 

“Don’t play dumb. You know very well what I mean. I can see it in your eyes. I knew you were always good at charms, you did get an ‘O’ in your N.E.W.T.s after all. And your family’s Pureblood—so is that the reason why you know so many spells that I’ve never even heard of?” 

Potter’s eyes glitter as he leans forward challengingly, his green eyes still fixed on Draco’s face. He tracks Draco’s every movement even as he leans down to pick up his glass again, sipping at the wine. Draco can feel his pulse quickening when, unthinkingly, Potter licks his lips, still staring at Draco as his tongue collects a stray drop of wine from the corner of his mouth. It’s the same mouth that had driven him mad earlier, and the faint mark of Potter’s handiwork is still evident on his neck. 

“Well done, Potter. Maybe there’s still hope for you after all. Ten points to the Aurors for Potter’s great detective skills.” Draco says mockingly. He looks out of the window, trying to cover up the fact that his cheeks are heating up once more.

“And you’ll be a Potions Master soon, I gather. At least that was what I got off the notes in that book you’ve left here. Why haven’t you told me before? We always need good suppliers for the Department. When we’re out in the field, potions are some of our lifesavers.” Potter’s voice is casual, like they’re just talking shop. 

Draco’s prepared for this. He’s had the cover story set in his mind for years now, ever since he started training to be an Unspeakable. He opens his mouth to agree—and is surprised by the next words that come out of his mouth. “Come on Potter, do you think the Ministry would officially buy Potions from a convicted Death Eater? Are you really so naive?” 

“I could put in a good word for you. That might help. No, it’ll definitely help.” Potter smiles, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s watching Draco carefully, gauging his responses. 

Draco scoffs. Deep down he knows Potter doesn’t mean it that way, but it still really hurts that Potter thinks he needs help to make it in the Wizarding World. “I don’t need your charity, Potter,” he hisses. 

Potter stays calm, his bright eyes searching Draco’s face. 

“I know you don’t.” Potter moves closer. “Because you’re not really a Potions Master, are you?”

Draco’s heart beats hard against his chest, but he remains silent. He draws up his knees, determined not to give Potter a chance to get closer. 

“Alright, let’s cut the bullshit Draco. I’ve had four days to study your book. At first glance, they look a lot like a Potions Master’s notes, I’ll give you that.” He takes another sip before he sets the glass down again on the floor, and slides down the long cushioned bench of the bay window towards Draco’s direction. “But I’ve watched you today. You’ve cast intricate spellwork, unfamiliar charms, and offensive spells. And then there are the coded notes in that little book of yours.” 

Draco is about to protest, but Potter carries on, refusing to allow any interruption. For a moment, Draco gets a strong glimpse of what it must be like when Potter’s on the job, when he senses that someone’s hiding something. Potter’s eyes are dark and are entirely focused on him. “Who are you? Are you involved in some sort of illegal activity?” 

“Illegal activities,” Draco sneers, shaking his head in disbelief. “So that’s what you really think of me. Good to know.” Draco’s jaw is tight, his entire body one long line of tension. “And even if I did engage in any illegal activity, what is it to you? Are you trying to ensure that your former fuck buddy gets the comfiest cell in Azkaban?”

Potter smiles again, clearly pleased with himself. “So it’s not that. Thanks for confirming my suspicions. I think I know you well enough by now to know when you’re telling the truth and when you’re lying. There’s another thing which you forgot. I work in the Ministry, and as it seems, so do you.” 

Draco’s eyes go wide at that. 

_Shit,_ he thinks at first before he mentally curses himself at carelessly leaving Unspeakable notes lying around in Potter’s house. 

Potter carries on, almost talking to himself as he tries to puzzle out the mystery before him. “I can’t decipher the notes, but we have similar, albeit simpler ways of encoding messages. We’ve been trained to detect them, and are instructed to at least attempt to decipher them on our own. The ones you used are almost impossible to crack, and usually, we would’ve given these notes to another department.” He lifts his gaze to focus on Draco as he says slowly, “...to the Department of Mysteries. That’s your department, isn’t it? You’re an Unspeakable. I’m almost sure of it. ”

Draco sighs; a long, deep sigh. He doesn’t reply. The silence stretches on, and Potter finally says, voice soft, “You’ve asked what it is to me. I care about you. I thought you knew that, I thought you—”

“You care about me? That’s heartwarming, really.” Draco’s bitter. Not about the fact that Potter’s uncovered his secret, but that Potter’s still pretending to be interested in him. 

“Can you let me finish for once? Godric, do you have to be an insufferable arse all the time? You know as well as I do that you’re not innocent here. Remember what _you_ said to me before I threw you out that day? You don’t get to blame me, or put this entirely on me. You think your words didn’t hurt me? I’m not a cold hearted arse like you. Fuck. That’s not what I—why is this so hard?” Potter scrubs a frustrated hand through his hair, sighing. He closes his eyes briefly, trying to gather his thoughts. 

Draco echoes his sigh as he massages his temples. He can feel a headache beginning to form. “Stop. Look, I don’t understand whatever it is that you’re trying to say. Please just tell me _directly_ whatever it is that you want to tell me. When you're finished, we should try to open the door again. I have better things to do than spend my evening stuck in here with you.” 

The tension in Potter’s body is obvious, but there’s also something else. If Draco hadn’t known Potter any better, he would have said that Potter was shy, was out of his depth. But that’s so unlike him. The Potter he’s come to know is casual and flirty, has flings with ex-Death Eaters, and lounges around in his bathrobe on a rug. 

When he finally speaks, Potter’s voice is low. “I’ve never been good at these sorts of things. Draco I— Fuck—” He ruffles his hair even more, trying to find the words. “What I’m trying to say is, I like you, okay?” 

Draco frowns at him. The words haven’t sunken in yet when Potter continues. “I mean, I really like you. I think, I’m in lo—” 

Draco holds up a hand to cut him off. “Stop right there. You’re just saying these things because of the situation we’re in right now. You're stressed, and you're not yourself. You wouldn’t say this under normal circumstances.” Draco’s firm, almost fierce as he says it. He can’t allow his heart to cling to even the smallest spark of hope, or he’ll just be crushed again. 

“I’m not." Potter looks a little angry, and a little sad. Then he does something completely unexpected. He squeezes himself into the small space between Draco and the windows, and laces his fingers with Draco’s again. He turns towards Draco, leaning forward until there’s barely an inch separating them. In a soft, tender voice, Potter speaks the words. The words that Draco had spent countless hours in his bed at night obsessing over, trying not to think about, because the idea that Potter might feel the same had seemed preposterous. 

“Draco, I think... no, I know I’m in love with you.” 

Potter doesn’t give him any time to react before he leans in, his thumb stroking gently over Draco's left cheek. It’s a light, soft kiss, just a brush of their lips. It's completely unlike all the other times that they’ve done this before. Potter’s face is shining as they break apart, and he begins to laugh, but his gaze isn’t focused on Draco. It’s directed on something just to Draco’s right.

“What’s wrong?” 

Potter points over Draco’s shoulder at the small table next to the armchair, right in front of the rug that he had been lying on. There’s a bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries that Draco’s pretty sure wasn’t there when he had first entered the library.

“Seems like the house approves.” Potter smile grows wider. “So—uhm what do you—” 

Draco cuts him off with a kiss. He needs to feel Potter’s lips on his again, just to make sure that it isn’t some mad dream. Potter kisses him back eagerly, and it isn’t long before they lose themselves, exchanging soft kisses. 

When they break apart once more, Draco’s hot all over, and his cheeks are flushed. Potter must see it, because he smiles at Draco before leaning in again, gently licking Draco’s bottom lip. When Draco parts his lips, Potter, to his surprise, slides his tongue in slowly. Draco follows Potter’s lead, and takes his time to explore Potter’s mouth. He tastes traces of the wine they’ve both been drinking, and hints of mint. But he doesn’t have time to focus on that, because Potter breaks off and swings one leg over Draco to straddle him. 

Potter looks down, taking in Draco’s flushed face. He brings both his hands to Draco’s face again, cupping it tenderly, and leans in. Draco thinks he’s leaning in for another kiss, but Potter just kisses the corner of Draco’s mouth instead, making him smile. Potter begins dropping little kisses all over Draco’s face—along his cheekbones and up to the corner of his eye. Draco lets out a little sigh of contentment, closes his eyes, and allows himself to enjoy it. This is a side of Potter that he rarely got to see during the last year; they never took the time to really explore each other. 

Potter gives Draco one more quick kiss, and then his hot mouth finds its way to the soft skin just behind Draco’s ear, before he kisses his way down from Draco’s jawline to his throat. Potter bites down gently, then licks over the bruised flesh. Draco moans, and in the same breath, tilts his head sideways. 

Potter slides closer, pushing him up against the wall and pressing his very evident erection against Draco, whose own is straining hard against the pants of his grey suit. Potter’s hands slide up over the fabric of his waistcoat; Draco doesn’t even notice that his jacket has come undone. Potter moves back, putting a little space between them so that one of his hands can slide down between them. It brushes gently against Draco’s confined cock. Simultaneously, Potter kisses his way up from Draco’s throat back to his mouth. 

Draco opens his eyes when Potter strokes his face with his thumb. Even in the orange light of the fire, he can see that Potter’s cheeks are equally flushed, his eyes blown wide as he looks at Draco and smiles. Potter’s face radiates clear affection as Draco pulls him in for another kiss. Potter rubs his hand over Draco’s erection, until he can’t help but moan shamelessly into Potter’s mouth, his hips rutting uselessly against Potter’s hand in a desperate attempt to get more friction. 

Draco’s left hand finds its way into Potter’s hair, his nails scraping against the scalp, and his other hand settling on Potter’s shoulder. Unconsciously, he pushes Potter down, and Potter complies. His hot mouth leaves Draco’s only to find its way back to Draco’s neck, kissing and licking over the skin before he bites down softly, leaving a mark. 

“Your mouth… so amazing… Need more,” Draco says breathlessly, his voice slightly raspy. 

A moment later, the warm body that had just been straddling his vanishes. He opens his eyes, blinking at the sudden loss of heat. In one swift motion, Potter’s turning him to face the fire, both of Potter’s strong hands on his hips and pulling him closer to the edge of the bay window. Potter’s on his knees in front of him, a wicked smile on his face as he undoes Draco’s belt. 

Potter’s moving too fast for Draco to keep up. He looks down at Potter, who is busily working on his zipper, a hungry look on his face. Potter must sense his hesitation, because he looks up, says, “Is this okay?”

“Oh—Oh yeah. Merlin, yes.”

Potter places a careful hand on Draco’s thigh. “We can go slower, if you want.” 

“Banish the thought. Carry on, Potter.” Draco says, and leans over to give Potter a quick kiss of reassurance.

“Up,” Potter commands, his voice husky, and Draco does as he’s told. Potter slowly pulls Draco’s trousers and underwear down until they’re pooled around his ankles, until he’s wearing nothing but his buttoned-up shirt and waistcoat.

“Beautiful,” Potter breathes, and Draco has to sit down at the look of pure desire on Potter’s face, his ass hitting the cushions of the bay window with a thump. Potter tugs him forward until he’s sitting at the edge of the ledge, and slowly kisses his way up Draco’s calves until he reaches the inside of Draco’s thighs. Draco’s eyes flutter when Potter’s left hand brushes over his cock, Potter’s fingers sliding up and down teasingly before he grips Draco’s cock loosely, and begins to stroke. Potter’s mouth continues its tour up Draco’s body until he reaches Draco’s hipbone. He bites down gently, marking him, before he licks his path back south again. The combination of Potter’s hot, wet tongue against his skin and Potter’s hand on his cock feels incredible. 

Then, Potter stops touching him. Draco watches as Potter’s left hand moves from his cock to his hips, joining his right hand to hold him in place as the bastard takes his time to slowly run his lips lightly over Draco’s cock, until Draco’s head falls back against the window pane with a resounding thump. Potter’s hands are keeping him from thrusting forward, so he has no chance to get the friction he needs. Draco pants, too lost to be able to form any kind of coherent thought. He can feel sweat forming on his forehead and his neck, and his entire body is on fire. 

Potter makes a small, pleased sound, and Draco opens his eyes to see Potter smirking up at him. His gaze is intense, and Potter runs his tongue slowly across his lips until they glisten with saliva. Draco bites his lower lip almost unwillingly at the sight. Apparently, that’s exactly what Potter wanted to see—him, almost completely gone—because Potter, finally, moves in. 

Potter licks the first drop of precome from Draco’s cock, his tongue flicking across the head, before he places his lips around the tip and takes Draco’s cock into his mouth. He begins to suck slowly, lightly; his hand loosely gripping the base of Draco’s cock as he does. 

One of Draco’s hands finds its way into Potter’s raven hair, running through it in a caress. As Potter starts to swirl his tongue around the head, Draco can’t restrain himself any longer and unthinkingly, he grips a fistful of hair as his moans begin to fill the air. Potter begins to move his hand, stroking Draco’s cock from the base up until it reaches his mouth. 

“Fuck, Potter.” The words come out breathy. Draco’s mouth is dry. He lets out a stream of curses as Potter keeps up the slow pace, keeps him right there on the edge. Then the wet hotness that is Potter’s mouth suddenly disappears. 

“What are you—?” His mind is too clouded by lust to be able to form a coherent sentence. 

“Be patient, Draco.” 

The way his name sounds in Potter’s mouth has Draco tugging lightly on Potter’s hair. The way Potter looks right now—on his knees in front of Draco, his lips wet with saliva and precome, his eyes wild with lust—is a feast for the eyes. 

“Time’s up, Potter! Now, come back with that lovely mouth of yours.” 

“Or else?” Potter raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “Are you threatening me?” His tone is playful, but there’s a challenging look in his eyes. 

“Or… I’ll fuck you into that rug you’ve been lying on earlier,” Draco replies, smirking. 

To his surprise, Potter gets up and cups Draco’s face tenderly, before he captures Draco’s mouth in a heated, though excruciatingly slow kiss. He mouths a trail of kisses all the way to Draco’s ear, sucking on the lobe. “Do it,” he whispers.

Reaching for Draco’s hands, Potter pulls him to his feet as Draco kicks off his shoes and steps out of his pants, leaving them behind on the floor, crumpled. He guides them both over to the white, soft rug in front of the fire that’s burning even brighter than before. As he walks, Potter discards his bathrobe and slippers, leaving him fully naked, and Draco still half-dressed.

Draco pauses in front of the fireplace to fully appreciate Potter’s naked body on display. Potter’s tanned skin is lined with scars that he’s collected over the years, and Draco’s already spent hours tracing and mapping every single one of them. He runs an appreciative gaze over them now; over Potter’s well-defined muscles from all the hours he spends training. Potter stays perfectly still as Draco looks at him, his body tense with anticipation. The warm glow of the fireplace highlights every contour of his body, and Draco reaches out to touch Potter’s chest. He runs his hands lightly over Potter’s skin, feeling Potter’s heart beating fast under his palm. He slides them over Potter’s hard abs, and settles them at Potter’s hips.

“You're so beautiful,” he murmurs, more to himself, but Potter hears him nonetheless and smiles. He steps closer, placing one hand on the small of Potter’s back as he pulls their bodies together. He can feel Potter’s hard erection brushing occasionally against his own. His other hand moves to Potter’s lips, his thumb brushing over them before he slides his hand to the nape of Potter’s neck. He leans in to kiss Potter. Potter parts his lips, and Draco mirrors him, welcoming Potter’s tongue inside his mouth with a quiet, pleased moan. 

Draco wraps an arm around Potter to hold him in place as he begins to move his hips. Their cocks begin to slide against one another, occasionally brushing against the hem of Draco’s shirt. The fabric provides some lovely friction, but it isn’t enough. Potter’s kisses grow desperate as his hands grip Draco’s hips, moaning into his mouth every time their cocks touch. He runs his hands over every inch of Draco’s body, then slips a hand between them to try and touch their cocks. 

Draco pulls away, batting Potter’s hand aside, and whispers seductively into his ear, “No, this is not how it’s going to end. You wanted me to take you on this lovely rug. So, get down, Harry, on the rug.” 

Harry’s green eyes widen in shock, which is when Draco realises that this is the first time that he’s called Potter by his first name. Harry stays there, smiling at him happily.

“The rug, _Harry_ ,” Draco says, whispering his name on purpose. 

Draco can see the shiver that runs through Harry’s body before he complies. He locks eyes with Draco the entire time he gets down on all fours and presents his arse to Draco. Harry arches his back as he does, then turns his head to watch Draco over his shoulder. It’s not what Draco had in mind, but he has never allowed Harry to turn around whenever they had sex previously. It was Draco’s way of self-preservation, of trying to stop himself from feeling anything for Harry. Now, for the first time, he wants to see Harry’s face when he comes.

For the time being though, Draco leaves him be. He slowly undoes his waistcoat, his fingers lingering on each button before he pops it open. He shrugs it off, letting it fall to the floor, then gets to work on the buttons of his white shirt. He’s in the perfect position to admire Harry’s broad shoulders, his gaze trailing down the smooth line of Harry’s spine until it reaches the curve of his arse. Harry’s Venus dimples are on prominent display, the flickering shadows of the fire darkening the shallow dip of skin. 

The last button undone, Draco shrugs his shirt off and lets it dangle off one fingertip before it joins his grey waistcoat on the ground. Harry watches him the entire time, head craned over his shoulder, his body quivering in anticipation. Once he’s fully naked, Draco kneels down beside Harry, and runs one hand down his back in long, tender strokes. The other hand turns Harry’s face to his, and he leans forward. His lips fasten around the lobe of Harry’s ear, and he sucks lightly, earning him a gasp from Harry. Draco pulls back, and in one swift motion, he flips Harry over and topples him onto his back on the rug.

He grins down at Harry’s stunned face and leans forward to lick the scars that crisscross Harry’s chest. He seals each lick with a kiss, and Harry pushes himself up on his elbows to watch him, shuddering under each kiss. Draco moves slowly, and by the time he’s done, Harry’s twitching under his touch and swearing under his breath.

“I’m just giving you a dose of your own medicine,” Draco says, a cheeky smile spreading across his face, and when Harry tries to spur him on, he moves up again to capture Harry’s mouth in a quick kiss before saying, “be patient, I’ll make it good for you, I promise.”

He kisses Harry’s left nipple while his right hand plays with the other one. Harry’s nipples are his sensitive spot, and he arches his back, moaning in unrestrained pleasure. 

“Please, Draco. I need— I need—” 

“Where’s the lube?” Draco asks, his fingers now tracing out small circles over Harry’s nipples.

“Bath-bathrobe.” Harry’s breathless, and has a hard time getting the words out. 

“Be right back,” Draco whispers against Harry’s lips and makes as if to get up. Then his eyes catch sight of a familiar blue bottle near Harry’s head, reflecting the flames from the fireplace. 

“Your house is clearly encouraging this," Draco tells him, laughing. 

“I’m definitely not gonna complain.”

Draco reaches over to grab the bottle. He pops open the lid and squeezes a small amount in his hand, astonished to feel that it’s already warm. He shifts down, and Harry spreads his legs obligingly. One hand finds its way to Harry’s arse, and he circles Harry’s hole with one wet finger teasingly. Draco shifts up until Harry’s legs hang over his shoulders, his mouth hovering over Harry’s erect cock, and then he licks a long stripe from base to tip before taking Harry into his mouth. At the same time, he pushes his first finger in, slowly. Harry moans, long and deep, his cock twitching in Draco’s mouth. Draco slides his finger in and out of him, careful and slow, until Harry’s looser, then adds a second finger. Draco’s hot mouth slides up and down Harry’s hard cock while his fingers push in and out, keeping the same rhythm. 

Harry arches off the rug in a long moan and pants hard when Draco finally brushes his fingers over that sweet spot. His voice is hoarse, his legs trembling as they dangle over Draco’s shoulders. 

“Draco, I’m close. Ahh… I ne-need you.” 

Draco takes his mouth off of Potter’s cock. “Just a bit longer.” He kisses Harry’s hipbone, his teeth sharp on Harry’s flesh. “I just want to make sure you’re properly prepared.” 

He slides a third finger. Harry groans at that, his body trembling with need. Draco holds still, waiting until he feels like Harry’s adjusted, then slowly resumes pumping his fingers in and out of Harry, lets him get used to the burn and slide until he’s whimpering for more. 

It’s only when Harry pushes himself up onto his elbows and glares at Draco, saying, “Merlin, Draco, are you going to fuck me now or what?” that he finally slides his fingers free. 

Harry moans again at the loss, and flops back onto the rug, throwing one arm across his face in frustration.

“Here, get yourself settled, love-ly.” Draco can feel himself blushing at the accidental slip of the tongue. He turns away to grab a couple of pillows off the sofa and hands them to Harry; helps Harry arrange them underneath him before he reaches for the bottle of lube with his free hand. Wiping his hand clean, he opens the bottle again, generously coating his cock with the transparent liquid before he settles himself between Harry’s legs. He guides his cock to Harry’s hole, already dripping wet, and pushes in slowly as he leans forward to kiss Harry. It’s a slow, long kiss, and Harry’s moaning into his mouth as Draco spreads him open; fills him up.

Draco breaks off the kiss only once he’s balls deep inside Harry. He presses his forehead against Harry’s, panting, before he pushes himself up for a better angle. He sets an easy pace, pumping slowly, holding Harry’s legs open as he watches his own cock slide in and out of Harry. 

“More, Draco, more.” Harry’s moaning, eyes closed in bliss, one hand fisted around his own cock.

Draco snaps his hips forward, slamming home, and Harry groans loudly, hooks a leg around Draco’s waist, trying to pull him in deeper. “Like this?” Draco asks, panting, and Harry responds, “Merlin, _yes_ , like that. Harder.”

Draco pushes Harry’s knees up to his chest, opening him up wide, and fucks him hard. His balls slap against Harry’s arse with every thrust, and he’s hitting Harry’s prostate with every wet slide of his cock in. Harry arches his back; the entire library fills with his moans. He looks better than Draco could have ever imagined in his wildest dreams. Harry’s eyes are closed, his forehead damp with sweat. Stray strands of hair are clinging to his forehead, to his neck; his mouth open wide in a groan. He chokes out Draco’s name and Draco, shuddering when he hears it, picks up the pace. 

Harry’s entire body is trembling, and Draco can feel how close Harry is, can feel him pushing desperately against him, trying to urge him on. “Please, Draco, please, _harder_.” 

“You’re so… perfect… love the way you take all of me.” Draco pants, and he knows he’s going to get rug burns from the way his knees keep shifting on the rug. He can feel his own orgasm begin to build. 

“Kiss me,” Harry says between moans, and Draco does just that. He lets go of Harry’s legs, and leans over to capture his mouth with his own. His rhythm begins to falter; he fucks Harry wildly now, hips snapping against Harry’s, and all it takes is a couple more thrusts. Harry comes first, his cock jerking in wild spurts all over their stomachs, his body clenching tight around Draco, and it’s the feeling of Harry’s body gripping his, warm and wet and tight around his cock, that brings him over the edge.

Draco moans, a long, shuddering groan as he feels himself emptying into Harry, his hips still jerking. Harry wraps an arm around him, holds him through his orgasm. Draco presses their foreheads together, trying to catch his breath. 

“You’re amazing,” he says in between pants, then pushes himself up. He slides out of Harry with a soft wet sound, and watches as his seed trickles out of Harry. 

“Oh,” he says, faint, when Harry puts a hand in-between his legs, and holds up a sticky finger coated with Draco’s cum, examining it before he wipes it off on the rug. Draco can’t hold himself up any longer. He flops down next to Harry, exhausted and happy. Streaks of Harry’s cum are drying on his stomach and chest, and he finds that he likes it, likes being marked by Harry like this. 

“Hey,” Harry says, and Draco turns to him, propping himself up on one arm to look at him. Harry’s lying spread-eagled with his hands folded underneath his head. He looks as if he’s just downed an entire vial of Felix Felicis—there’s a wide, pleased smile on his face.

“What?” Draco asks. 

Harry turns to face him, hooking one leg over Draco’s hip, trying to tug him closer. 

“Potter, that’s disgusting. We’ll start sticking to each other.” 

“What happened to Harry?” 

“Harry disappeared when you decided to do this.” 

Harry chuckles and kisses the tip of Draco’s nose. “Shut up, I know you don’t mind or you’d have moved away.” 

Draco rests the palm of his hand on Harry’s cheek, stroking Harry’s skin tenderly as he looks at him. Harry’s face is open, happy, and Draco takes a deep breath. He has never expected to say these words to anybody and mean it, and yet here he is, steeling himself to bare his heart. He loves Harry; has loved him for a long time now. 

“I love you.” He says the words softly, almost whispering. 

Harry smiles, whispers back, “I love you too,” and their lips meet again in a kiss. It’s long, slow, and sweet.

In the background, there’s the click of a lock turning over, and then the sound of wood creaking. They break apart and look over to the heavy double doors of the library. In the orange light of the fire, they can see that one door has swung open, a tiny crack that lets in the cool air of the dim passageway beyond. 

Draco’s gaze is drawn to the slippers Harry had toed off and left by the edge of the rug. The lions are dozing now, their eyes shut. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” 

“Where in Salazar’s name did you get these horrendous looking slippers?”

“Luna gave them to me when she visited yesterday. And,” Harry hesitates, but forges on when Draco gives him an encouraging look, “she basically told me to not let you leave so easily again.” 

"And your idea was to try and seduce me here, in the library, dressed in nothing but a bathrobe?”

“No.” He laughs. “That wasn’t my original plan at all. I had just gotten out of the shower when the wards chimed and informed me that you had entered the house.” 

“How did you—”

“Know it was you? I adjusted them so that only you could enter without encountering any obstacles. Anyway, this plan was just thrown together at the spur of the moment. I had hoped that well... this would make you reconsider our relationship."

Draco laughs loudly, his entire body vibrating against Harry’s. “That is the worst plan I’ve ever heard.” 

"You have to admit that in the beginning, it seemed to work. Until I…”

“Said the wrong thing?” Draco suggests.

“Yeah… Anyway, I have really no idea why the house locked us in.” “Mhh... something must’ve caused it.” After a minute, Draco asks, “do you recall Luna’s exact words?” 

“Lemme think…” Harry tilts his head, biting his lower lip as he thinks back to yesterday’s conversation. “It went something along the lines of, ‘It’s really quite simple Harry, the both of you have got to sit down and have it out. If you feel something for him, you can’t let him leave without being honest about your feelings for once.’” There’s a slight pause. 

Then, “oh,” Harry says as realisation dawns. 

“Yes,” Draco laughs. “Oh.”

“I think I love my house,” Harry says, flopping back into the rug with a sigh. 

“I do, too. Now let’s go and appreciate your house’s showers.”

“Alright, but first, I wanna eat those strawberries.” 


End file.
